


Last One Standing: Percival de Rolo III

by PGT



Series: Last One Standing - Critical Role [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Last one standing au, Mature for violence, POV Multiple, Past Character Death, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Years after Vecna's Destruction and the fall of Vox Machina, A man matching the description of Percival de Rolo III is found on the outskirts of Whitestone.





	1. The Bell of Death Tolls Not for Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Loyle-trash on tumblr, feel free to send a request if you like my work! This is a short chapter just to see what people would like me to write.

The council of Whitestone had been dining at the time Rifleman Kynan Leore entered. His face shone of sweat, and his light hair was brushed back into a loose knot.  

He waited for permission to speak in the archway. Lady Cassandra sat at the head of the table, currently in light discussion with the man to her left, Keeper Yenen of the Temple of Pelor. The two were the highest level council members, having been part of it since it’s making. Along the sides of the table sat a number of others, a tiefling woman, a male cleric with scars littering his forearms, a lavish man with a braided goatee and a gnome with black braids and a book in her lap. The murmur of the room was a pleasant one, but the table’s emptiness was a constant reminder of what Whitestone had lost.

Perhaps he had shifted, or breathed in a way that caught her attention, but with a curious expression Lady Cassandra looked towards the doorway. She smiled in greeting towards Kynan, and hushed the room to let him speak.

He thanked her, and directed his speech to the council.

“Members of the council, The wolf, Galdric, entered town today with a bloodied man in tow. He was seemingly unconscious at the time, however when we presented him to your clerics,” He nodded to Keeper Yenen, “their healing spells were enough to rouse him. He did not take kindly to our assistance, and was forcibly knocked out again after harming a number of Pale Guards. There were no casualties, and the man has been seized. However…”

Kynan paused, as if composing a delicate revelation. His gloved hands wrung together and he chewed at the inside of his cheeks.

“There were a matter of intriguing details accompanying this man. For one, he seemed well off, much of his armor seemed enchanted, as even after whatever Galdric brought him from there was no damage to his equipment. Additionally, he wields rifles of the ilk we’ve never seen before in Whitestone. It is possible he created them after your late brother’s designs, but… they’re far different to what we have. There is another hypothesis as to where his weaponry comes from, however...”

“What is it?” 

Kynan watched as Cassandra’s once soft smile melted into stoicism. Many of the council members were attendant on her, jaws locked. She was so much younger than she looked, stark white hair having taken the place of her previous de Rolo brown following the Vanquish of Vecna, a full-party sacrifice of Whitestone’s very own Vox Machina. She was barely into her thirties now, but her hair and soul were that of a saged woman. As the leader of Whitestone she was left little room to cope with the loss of her brother and his companions. While many across Tal’dore celebrated the dark god’s banishment, it was little more than a time of mourning for Whitestone. 

The implied conclusion to Kynan’s sentence was a dangerous one. One that resounded as a parallel to every dream Cassandra had, one that was a hollow joke to her reality.

Kynan bowed his head. “We have concluded that the man... is Percival.”

Yenen winced at the name, eyeing Cassandra woefully. 

She hadn’t moved. Her eyes scanned Kynan’s bowed head, trying to read something off of him, any give of dishonesty in his posture. He fidgeted in place, but left her no reason to discount what he told her.

She stood, slowly, and many of the council stood with her: Zahra, Kash, Gilmore and JB.

“Where is this man?”

Kynan shrunk deeper into his form. “I’ll lead you,” He started out the door, the council close behind. “Trisha wanted him in the dungeons by the ziggurat. Regardless of who he is, he had an abundant amount of magical items, and though we confiscated what we could find, we deem him a large threat.”

Their footsteps echoed down the halls and down the stairwell to the Ziggurat. After Vecna’s downfall, the Ziggurat’s magic cancelling remained, and the decision was made to reform the cavern into something more liveable. The floors were tiled and the walls carved smooth. The Ziggurat was blocked in, subverted from view, and several constructs that the void would be beneficial to, the Council Room and gunshop to prevent scrying, and the high-security dungeon, were built.

The dungeon had yet to find a resident until today.

Trisha was stationed at the border of the Ziggurat’s radius as the Council came down the tiled hall. She saluted as they passed, offering, “The centermost cell on the right, Ma’am. Jarrett is keeping watch.”

Cassandra didn’t respond as she strode with meaning down the open way to the thick, stone construct. Another Pale Guard moved to unlock the entrance as everyone neared, and made quick work of the numerous locks.

“He’s awake, Ma’am. Been taunting Captain Jarrett for the better half of an hour. Be wary.”

She nodded, and the guard heaved the door wide.

Jarrett stood attention in a wide, stone hall. Small cells lined the walls, thick steel bars criss-crossing, leaving little room for more than a few fingers. A steel-plated door prevented any unwanted entry or exit. At the groaning of the main door, Jarrett turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge Lady Cassandra and the party that followed. The scrape of chain against stone murmured from within the cell.

For all of her swift strides and hurry, Cassandra found herself waiting in the entryway, leaving the inside of the cell just outside of her line of sight. The possibility that Percival hadn’t died was too much. It had been  _ years _ since Vecna’s fall. What could’ve happened to him in that time? Were the others…

Gilmore put a hand on her shoulder. Not moving to pass her, not pushing her forward. It breathed a soft reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. She turned to see Zahra and Kash locked in heated discussion, Zahra’s eyes damp. Behind them, Kynan stood stony-faced, one hand on his snakeskin belt and another on his sheathed dagger. And last, JB Trickfoot, eyes glued to the ground, knuckles white against her leather-bound book.

She stepped forward. One small step, then more confident, and the cell came into view.

As the prison was within the Ziggurat’s influence, natural fire braziers dimly lit the hall. Shadow bathed the majority of the cell, and while Cassandra could see a seated man’s silhouette, she couldn’t see more than that.

Jarrett spoke up as Cassandra grew closer. “It is good to see you, Miss. He has shut up since he last woke, tired himself out perhaps.”

Her eyes stayed on the hidden figure. “What has he told you?”

Jarrett laughed. “Nothing much, I’m afraid. He’s smart enough to keep from spilling information, that’s for damn sure.”

“Has he given a name?”

“Not yet, but he’s not unfamiliar, Miss.” He shifted his attention to the man in the shadows. “Prisoner, if you could come out into the light for me it would be much appreciated.”

The man shifted, turning to face the bars. He continued to sit on the stone bench for a moment, drumming his leg. With each movement the gentle collision of chains followed. He wiped his face before pushing off and walking towards the light.

Most of his body remained shrouded, but enough of his face was visible now to leave the party out of breath.

A pale face breached the shadow. Tired, light blue eyes reflected the flickering firelight. He had stark white hair, longer than Cassandra remembered, tufts that reached past his brow. His beard wasn’t much longer than it had been, but it was thicker, and unkempt. Dried blood flaked off of his cheek and in the shadows a dark stain decorated his throat and tunic. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing, but his face didn't shift from a bored analysis of Cassandra's own more open expression.

“Percival…”

She hadn't noticed the tears start to fall, the quiver of her lips until she spoke. She lifted a hand to compose herself as the man cocked his head. 

“I haven't heard that name in a long while. Hello, Cassandra.”

When he spoke, his voice was different from what it once had been. He still spoke like a noble, but his tone was indifferent, not unlike JB’s inflections.

He looked lazily to the council. “JB, how's the library?”

She jolted, head darting up from the floor. There was a beat before two words seemed to spill from her, “Where's Pike!”

His expression didn't shift. He took a moment to take in her question. “She was the first down, Grog couldn't save her.”

JB didn't respond, but her silence and the drop of her head was enough to pack a punch. Zahra and Kash were the first to recover.

“And the others-- you're the only one that made it out, dear?”

“What the hell makes you so special?”

Still watching JB, he exhaled, the air carrying a soft laugh, though he did not wear a smile. He cocked his head to face Kash, head tilted forward and to the left, cold eyes peering from beneath tousled hair. “They’re dead. I’m not. That’s what makes me  _ special. _ ”

He closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall. “I never seem to die, do I?”

The room fell silent, JB and Cassandra tear stricken, the rest taking the events slightly better. Jarrett broke the silence with a heavy sigh, switching his weight to his other leg. “How depressing. You still fucking shot three Pale Guards. This is a big offence, you understand? I don’t give a shit you helped save the world against some fucking dark god, yes? What were you doing around Whitestone anyway? The dog found you unconscious in the forest, man.”

Cassandra didn’t hear Percival’s response or the conversation that followed, locked in her own headspace. In his short human life, he’d lived past the only family he’d ever had,  _ twice. _ She was the only one he hadn’t lost. 

It had been  _ years _ . Not a sign that he was alive. He wasn’t the only one that lost everything. She had too. Why hadn’t he let her know? What was he doing all this time? Where did he live, and with who, had he been alone ever since Vecna? 

Was Percival okay?  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of my Last One Standing AU! This is one of my favorite AUs to write, and of course it’s perfect for Vox Machina. If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment to let me know if you’d like more of Percival (or Cass, really)’s tale or if you would like me to explore the other characters first?


	2. Poems and Diaries to No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short! I was getting antsy for not posting for a few weeks, but I haven't hit the cut off mark for the longer version of this chapter :C  
> so! next chapter will be longer, I assure you. This one follows Gilmore, and so will the next!

Two days had passed since the pale man arrived to Whitestone. By Lady Cassandra’s request, everyone who made contact was instructed that anything pertaining to him was of the highest confidentiality. Only the council were allowed to speak with him or of him. 

Only Gilmore was permitted access to his possessions. 

He wasn’t pleased to be tasked with identifying the supposed Percival’s things. Three guns, all imbued with magic. Cabal’s Ruin, Diplomacy, the beaked mask, a bag of holding. He didn’t have the eyepiece to look through the bag, but even the weapons and cloak were enough to confirm his identity. Any claims that the man was a false Percival were hard pressed for evidence.

Gilmore put out a hand towards the larger gun. Each had already been touched by Pale Guards, it was safe enough to hold. Avoiding the trigger and pointing the gun away from himself, Gilmore grasped the barrel, smooth metal greeting his palm with a warm embrace despite the material’s natural coolness. He muttered the incantation for  _ identify _ , vision flashing white before the information spilled into his mind: A cone-of-magic enchantment, not unlike a dragonborn’s breath.

He couldn’t understand why Percival would want his far ranged weapon to have such a comparatively close ranged effect, but admittedly much of what Percival did in the past was beyond him.

The second gun was smaller in comparison, and Gilmore recognised it as Percival’s gun Animus. An identification spell found no change to the gun's enchantments since he'd last seen it. Last on the table was the smallest gun, a pepperbox with six chambers. He'd saved it for last, as it was the most interesting of the three. Along the surface he recognized Celestial script, and in identifying the enchantments upon the gun he found overwhelming celestial power. 

Gilmore rolled the mechanism in his hand, taking note of the unfamiliar script, the symbols of the dawn father engraved on the handle, the gold detailing.

He wanted to know what the script said, and the prisoner was the last person he intended to talk to right now. That left either JB or Keeper Yennen to translate. Gilmore duplicated the writing on a piece of parchment and put away the confiscated gear, ensuring every manual and magical lock was firmly in place before leaving it under Trisha’s vigilance.

JB was closest to Gilmore’s current location, rarely leaving the library let alone the castle. It was a brisk walk to find her at the usual desk, a specially made table sized down for the gnome, with small plush stools and the occasional traditionally sized chair for visitors. It was easy to miss JB behind the stacks of tomes and records, but there she sat, nose buried in a journal as she furiously scrawled. Since the Downfall, she had taken to journaling. Gilmore only knew of brief glances into her leather bound series, but every chapter began the same:

_ Dearest Pike, _

Gilmore secretly didn’t find her lingering attachment healthy, but it wasn't his place to stop her. Instead, he waited politely as she continued to write, ignoring the sniveling and the tear stains streaking her parchment.

When she sat her quill to the side, she did so with a great sigh and puffy eyes, and didn't look up from the ink until it was dry enough for her to close the book. It was only when the book was closed that Gilmore drummed his fingers gently against his chair arm, announcing his presence. 

She glanced towards him past a questionably balanced pillar of books, enough to take account of who was with her, before moving to place the journal atop it. “Hello, Shaun.”

“Hello, darling. I don't suppose I can trouble you for a translation? It's in celestial.”

He took the paper from a breast pocket and set it on the table, sliding it across the wood within her range. 

“It was on the prisoner’s weapon, along with the symbol of Pelor. If it’s some sort of hymn I’ll ask Yennen, but, to be frank, I thought you’d prefer the challenge.”

JB nodded slowly, taking the paper. As the Whitestone Bookkeeper, JB was practically forced to learn a number of languages, Celestial included, if she truly wanted to read everything. It had been one of her favorites to learn, claiming it made her feel closer to Pike as a cleric. She was probably grateful for the small job. JB picked up the quill again and resaturated it, analyzing the copied engraving.

Several minutes passed, Gilmore whistling idly over the scritching pen and reading book titles idly until JB straightened out in his peripheral and the scratching stopped.

“So, what does it say?”

Her eyes drifted over the page. Lips mouthed the words inaudibly, and her brow furrowed. “Was Percival married?”

Gilmore leaned forward in his seat, hand raising to tease the bead crimping his goatee with idle interest “No, not that I was aware of. What is it?”

She shook her head, confusion painting her expression. She offered Gilmore the parchment. “See what you can make of it.”

He looked down to the still glossy script.

_ A new list _

_ Not those who must pay justice _

_ But that which keeps me just _

_ My heart, My judgement _

_ My future, now passed _

_ A list with one name _

As his eyes fell to the last line JB spoke again. “Was there someone like that to him?”

Gilmore hummed in thought. “Before Vecna perhaps I would’ve guessed Cassandra, or Whitestone. But now...”

“Maybe he has a child,” JB’s previously tearful face was dry now, her eyes red but otherwise preoccupied with the verses.

Gilmore scoffed. “I pray not. He’s the last bastard I’d trust with a tyke.”

She laughed, and seemed to share his sentiment. It was a rare sound, and Gilmore couldn’t help but smile. He stood from the table and waved the parchment to dry. “I suppose I’ll have to tell Cassandra about this at supper. Until then, yes?”

“I’ll see you there, Shaun.”

He left the library with a relaxed pace and continued down the hall. Cassandra was likely free at the moment, but he continued past her office. He didn’t want to bother her with a riddle right now, And she wouldn’t be able to gather anything more than JB had. As he passed, the ease remaining from JB’s rare smile tapered, and his expression grew anxious. 

Gilmore continued towards the stairwell to the ziggurat.


	3. Chapter 3

Not a chapter, sorry to those waiting for one . This is actually only an authors note.  
I intended to rewrite this LoS with an actual plan-- most of my fics are off the cuff and end quickly because, well, I never learned write how to outline.  
However, with the end of this campaign comes the beginning of a new one, and I won't have the capacity to write about vox machina with brand new babies to break in. I won't be able to continue Percy's LoS, at least not well. I'll be sure to write for the next campaign, though (this time perhaps with a little outlining ^^;;;)  
Thanks for understanding. See you in 20 years, Exandria!


	4. GOOD NEWS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story short: Dec:1 I'll be posting the first chapter of the LoS:Percy rewrite!

Hey! I'm excited to say that I had to do nanowrimo for a class this month and that gave me the perfect opportunity to rewrite this! So on December 1st I'll be returning to ao3 to post chapter one. It'll be in the LoS series, but separate from this for, so make sure to subscribe to the series, not the fic, if you'd like to be notified!  
It's only 11k right now, but my goal is 20k. It's rough (as nanowrimo demands) so I hope it's enjoyable enough!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of my Last One Standing AU! This is one of my favorite AUs to write, and of course it’s perfect for Vox Machina. If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment to let me know if you’d like more of Percival (or Cass, really)’s tale or if you would like me to explore the other characters first?


End file.
